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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27155659">A Loud Boys' Guide To Unhappiness</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupstarsandsilence/pseuds/soupstarsandsilence'>soupstarsandsilence</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Eventual Happy Ending, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Running Away, brief depiction of blood, minor injury, selective mutism, soft friendship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:19:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,826</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27155659</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupstarsandsilence/pseuds/soupstarsandsilence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Late one night, Tommy runs away. He's going to stay with Will (not that the older man knows it yet), and maybe while he's there he'll remember how to be happy.</p><p>(Lol I swear I'll update this one day, I just dunno when. Chapter two gave me a lot of strife and then I kinda lost interested in it. I'll work on it slowly whenever the whimsy strikes. Sorry to those who were super interested in it :p)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>546</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Loud Boys' Guide To Unhappiness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>x I'm trying a new writing style?? That is, multiple short chapters (or 'segments') within one longer chapter.</p><p>x Let me know if you find editing errors, please.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>‘His fingers reach into his pocket for his phone, and the screen reads 12:48AM. He finds Will’s number, and dials it in a haze. He won’t – can’t – talk himself out of it. Not with this, not this time. He needs help, and Will is his only option.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He’ll come, Tommy tells himself. He will come.'</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>One – Stream</strong>
</p><p>He looks exactly the same, he knows. Sounds exactly the same. No one who knew him would notice the difference, and no one he knows is watching. He streams DreamSMP, and waits.</p><p>When it’s over, he’ll be out of here.</p><p>He’s not proud of his decision, but it’s his decision, nonetheless. He needs to get out of here, away from this cramped room, with its bare walls and bad wifi. It’s been home all his life, but now it’s not. He doesn’t know when his idea of <em>‘home’</em> changed so drastically, but he can’t remember the last time he was happy here.</p><p>He streams DreamSMP, and waits.</p><p>His parents go to bed, so he ends the stream, and stands. He needs to get out of here.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>Two – Letter</strong>
</p><p>His bag has been packed for days now, hidden away from eyes that weren’t looking. He picks it up, and slings it over his shoulder. It has his whole life inside; His laptop, his passport, some dried fruit, and spare clothes.</p><p>He’s not worried for the future. With a stable income from Youtube, and a laptop to stream from, he’ll be fine on his own for a while.</p><p>His train ticket is in the pocket of his jacket, by the door. He puts the jacket on, and turns off his bedroom light. He walks to the kitchen, and sticks a letter to the kettle. It’s not much; barely an explanation as to why he’s doing something as drastic as running away. He doesn’t need one, he thinks. His parents have always been wonderfully understanding.</p><p>They’ll understand.</p><p>He doesn’t give himself the time to think otherwise. He gives the dog a pat on the head, and then he’s wandering out into the evening breeze.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>Three – Think</strong>
</p><p>He walks to the train station, because it’s not a far walk, but mostly because he wants to give himself some more time to think. He’s going to stay with Will, not that the older man knows this yet, and he hopes he won’t mind, because he’s Tommy’s only option.</p><p>He could have gone to Toby, he thinks, and he’s considered the option before. But the problem with Toby is Toby’s <em>parents – </em>Not that there’s anything wrong with them, but they wouldn’t understand. He’d be inconveniencing them with a problem they had no hope of helping him with. Aside from that, he just… Didn’t want Toby to know that he was struggling.</p><p>It was a stupid, vain reason borne of insecurity and pride. He would readily admit that to himself, and also admit that he couldn’t help it. That’s why he chose Will instead.</p><p>Will had experienced his predicament before, Tommy knows. He knows this because Will told him. In late nights past, Tommy and Will had spoken quietly about many, many things. They wandered the forests of the DreamSMP, and got more real with each other than they probably should have. They spoke of family, love, loss, and regret. Of music, inspiration, acceptance, and rejection. Of hopes, and dreams, and fears.</p><p>So Tommy knows Will can help him. Whether or not he <em>will </em>is yet to be seen, but Tommy doesn’t doubt his friend.</p><p>He reaches the train station.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>Four – Train</strong>
</p><p>The carriage is empty but for him and an old couple, both fast asleep. He’s grateful – Being recognised while on a train heading far away was one of his bigger anxieties about putting this plan into motion. The last thing he needs is word of his leaving reaching his fanbase (and by extension, his parents) so quickly.</p><p>He’s served dinner by a bored-looking steward; it’s chicken curry and vegetables. Looking at it and feeling his stomach cry out is an unwelcome reminder of how minimal his appetite has been recently. Now he feels like he could eat the moon. He puts on his headphones, and settles in to eat as he watches the world fly by.</p><p>He must have fallen asleep at some point – another thing he’s been lacking recently – as he wakes to the sound of the speakers crackling to life.</p><p>
  <em>“The train will be arriving in Brighton in ten minutes. Please have your belongings ready, and make sure the area around you is clean. Thank you.”</em>
</p><p>It’s <em>12:03AM, </em>and he’s almost certain that Will isn’t awake, but that’s fine; half-price accommodation for the night came with his train ticket. He puts his headphones in his bag, and spends the text ten minutes scrolling through Twitter. It’s the typical mix of wholesome and toxic, and he grumbles quietly as the stupidity of humanity threatens to shatter the fragile peace he’s found since he got on the train.</p><p>The train eventually slows to a stop, and Tommy stands, following the other passengers down the carriage and onto the platform.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>Five – Rain</strong>
</p><p>His arrival is greeted with the wrath of the Gods.</p><p>Biting wind and harsh, icy rain startles him, and he trips his way up the stairs to the waiting room. The heater is on full blast, but it does little to ease the trembling now wracking his frame. He stumbles into another passenger and stutters out a quiet apology as he beelines for a nearby bench. He dumps his bag on the floor and collapses onto the seat. His breath comes out in short, shaky bursts, and his heart thumps wildly in his chest.</p><p>Minutes pass, and he slowly manages to calm himself down. His hair is plastered to his head, and his jacket is damp, but all in all, he could be worse-off. A glance out the window shows that the weather has not at all eased, but he knows he has to brave it if he wants to get a taxi to his hotel. The thought that it may be too late at night for any taxis to be around briefly crosses his mind, and anxiety swirls in his gut at the idea of being trapped in the station till morning. He shakes both the thought and the feeling away, though. Fear will get him nowhere.</p><p>He grabs his bag and stands, strolling apprehensively to the large glass doors of the station. The dark, rainy night makes it difficult to see, and he laments the fact that he didn’t bring an umbrella with him. If he wants to find a taxi, he’ll probably have to get wet. He’s about to push open the door and face the elements, when a sudden hand on his shoulder has him whirling around with a gasp.</p><p>His heart leaps into his throat as he comes face to face with a station officer. The elderly man doesn’t look very threatening, but Tommy’s mind is <em>shrieking </em>at the prospect of <em>danger. </em>The officer takes a step back, noticing how much he’s startled Tommy, and flashes a reassuring smile that doesn’t actually make Tommy feel very reassured.</p><p>“Good evening,” the officer says. Tommy opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out, so he settles for a polite nod. He hates this – hates that he fears something as simple as social interaction, and hates that his fear turns him into a bloody <em>mute. </em>The officer stares at him oddly.</p><p>“Bit late to be out and about, innit?” Another nod. “You heading anywhere in particular?”</p><p>Tommy takes a breath, and attempts to force his voice into action. He mumbles a weak, vague sentence about friends, and hotels, and taxis. The officer looks unconvinced, and Tommy’s panic intensifies. If the officer asks for his age, or where his parents are, or—or, a whole bunch of others things—<em>‘this is going to go south very quickly,’ </em>his mind screams, and it takes all his willpower to keep his feet rooted to the spot, and not bolt out into the night like a spooked cat.</p><p>“You look a bit young, kid, and I dunno that I’m comfortable sending you out into the night alone,”</p><p>“I’ll be fine,” he protests softly.</p><p>“Even if you think that, things can still go wrong, y’know?” Tommy nods. “Tell you what, why don’t you come to my office with me, and we’ll call—your friend, did you say? How ‘bout we call ‘em, and we get you…” The officer continues rambling, but Tommy’s mind has tuned him out. <em>‘No, no, no, no, no-!’ </em>His mind repeats the word on loop, getting louder and more distorted with every passing second. He <em>can’t </em>call Will now, not with this man watching. He hasn’t <em>told </em>Will that he’s coming yet, and the officer will realise something is up, and try to get him to call his parents, and then he’ll have to go home and <em>explain why he left, and he can’t can’t <strong>can’t deal with that-! </strong></em></p><p>The officer reaches out towards him – Tommy doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t care – and Tommy’s legs decide to make their own decisions, sending him bolting out into the night like a spooked cat.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>Six – Run</strong>
</p><p>His feet pound the ground beneath him as he hastily makes his way far, far away from the station. He wants to look back to see if anyone is following him, but he can’t find the courage. Instead, he keeps running, running, running until he’s completely soaked, and shaking, and cold, and <em>lost. </em></p><p>He slows to a stop, and looks around wildly. The roaring of the rain, and the thumping of his heart make it hard to focus, and all he can gather from his surroundings is <em>‘dark, cold, lost, help.’ </em></p><p>A nearby bus stop provides minimal protection from the storm. Tommy sets his bag down, and checks to make sure its contents are still dry. The fabric is waterproof, but it’s also a very old bag, so Tommy doesn’t know how much to trust it. Luckily, although the fabric itself is wet and cold to the touch, it’s done its job, and kept his laptop safe. That done, the overwhelming urge to sob finally overcomes him. Tears come thick and fast, and he struggles to breathe through the panic coursing through his system.</p><p><em>Why </em>did he think this was a good idea? What on <em>Earth </em>made him think he could pull this off? He internally berates himself as he continues to cry. He flinches when thunder booms, and lightning strikes so bright, for a moment it looks like it’s day.</p><p>… And for a moment, he can see someone walking towards him through the rain.</p><p>“Oi!” The stranger – a middle-aged man – yells, and Tommy struggles to sling his bag over his shoulder, fully prepared to run again as his brain releases another large dose of adrenaline. The man comes into view, and with the weathered face, lit cigarette, and dirty, torn clothes, he looks <em>significantly </em>more threatening than the station officer. “You be lookin’ a bit lost, yeah?” The man says, “And I be thinkin’ I could help you out. Yeah?” A beat of silence passes between them, and then the man lunges at him.</p><p>Tommy screams. Any other time, he wouldn’t be proud to admit it, but pride is the very last thing on his mind right now. He screams, and sprints back out into the rain. He hears footsteps behind him, and knows the man has given chase. Tears and rain blur his vision, but he presses onwards, running faster than he thinks he ever has before.</p><p>Then he slips, and goes crashing into the pavement. Fire-hot pain races along his right forearm, and he doesn’t know if it’s just grazed or broken, but he tries to put it from his mind as he jumps back up, and carries on running. He runs out of breath far too soon, and has top stop. He pastes himself to a wall, and takes stock of his surroundings. He can’t see much, but he doesn’t think the man is still following him.</p><p>A warm, sticky sensation surrounds his right arm, and he glances down to confirm that the sleeve is torn and bloody. The sight makes him want to throw up, and he stumbles forward a few steps before losing his dinner to the gutter. There’s no significant cover to be found in his new location, so he makes his way to a nearby tree, and distantly hopes it doesn’t get struck by lightning. His mind is numb with terror, and the rest of him is numb with cold. He’s bleeding, and cold, and lost, and it’s dark, and he wishes nothing more in this moment than to be back at home, in bed, where everything is safe and familiar.</p><p>His fingers reach into his pocket for his phone, and the screen reads <em>12:48AM. </em>He finds Will’s number, and dials it in a haze. He won’t – can’t – talk himself out of it. Not with this, not this time. He needs help, and Will is his only option.</p><p><em>‘He’ll come’</em>, Tommy tells himself. ‘<em>He will come</em>.’</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>Seven – Call</strong>
</p><p>The five rings it takes Will to pick up the phone seem to take hours, and Tommy very nearly loses his nerve. He’s preparing to hang up and let fate have its way with him, when the ringing stops, and Will’s voice fills his ear.</p><p>
  <em>“Tommy? It’s like one in the morning, dude. Please tell me you’re not streaming now.”</em>
</p><p>The sound of his friend sends him back into frenzied sobbing, and the next time Will speaks, he sounds much more awake, and <em>much </em>more worried.</p><p>
  <em>“To-tommy? Tommy, what’s wrong?”</em>
</p><p>Tommy shakes his head, unable to muster up any words. <em>“Tommy, mate, talk to me, please.” </em>Will’s voice is strained with concern, and beyond the panic and the pain, Tommy feels guilty for upsetting his friend. <em>“Where are you? What do you need? Should I message your parents?”</em></p><p>“N-no!” He pleads, and it seems to surprise both of them that he managed the word. “Please…” He continues weakly. “Will, ple-please don’t tell my parents. Don’t tell them, and-and don’t be mad, please…” Tommy hears Will take a breath, perhaps to collect himself, before speaking again.</p><p>
  <em>“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to, but I need to know what’s going on, Tommy. I won’t be mad, I promise.”</em>
</p><p>He sounds so calm and sure, and before Tommy can comprehend it, he’s found his voice, and is stuttering out a rambled flood of words. The anxiety he’s been plagued with for months, the difficulty with talking, and eating, and getting out of bed. The ever-present grief over nothing in particular that follows him around, leeching his energy and desire to do anything. The stress of keeping up with school, and friends, and family events amidst his growing Youtube career, and the fear that no one will understand, or believe him, or worse yet, tell him he’s being ungrateful, and overreacting.</p><p>He tells Will about his plan to come to him, about the note on the kettle, and the train, and the rain, and the officer, and the man at the bus stop. He talks, and talks, until he can’t talk anymore. Will is silent for most of it, and Tommy fears they’ve been disconnected.</p><p>“Will-!”</p><p><em>‘I’m still here, Tommy. It’s okay,” </em>Will blows out a long, shaky breath. <em>“Everything’s gonna be okay, yeah? I’m getting in the car now, and I’m gonna come get you. Can you tell me where you are?”</em></p><p>“I-I don’t know. There’s no signs and it’s dark, and raining and-and—!”</p><p><em>“Tommy, breathe in.” </em>Tommy sucks in a breath. <em>“Now, close your eyes, and blow it out slowly.” </em>Again, Tommy complies. <em>“Alright. I want you to open the maps app on your phone, yeah? That’ll tell you where you are.”</em></p><p>Tommy nearly slaps himself for not thinking of that, but refrains, and opens the app. He takes note of the street he’s on, and gives Will the address. Will hums in what Tommy thinks is relief.</p><p><em>“You’re not far from me, only about a ten-minute drive—fuck, it’s really pouring buckets, isn’t it?” </em>Tommy hears a car horn blast angrily over the speaker, and his mind flashes through scenario after scenario of Will getting into a car crash, or being swept away in a flood, or—or—</p><p>
  <em>“You still there, Tommy?”</em>
</p><p>Tommy nods, then remembers that Will can’t see, so he settles for a strained hum.</p><p>
  <em>“Good. Hang tight, bud, I’ll be there soon.”</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>Eight – Will</strong>
</p><p>In the minutes that follow, Tommy tunes out everything except the sounds coming from Will; anxious grumbling, the indicator, the windscreen wipers, tires splashing through water, the occasional blast of a horn. Eventually, even those sounds become background noise to his rapidly fading ability to stay standing. He’s reached too-cold-to-feel-cold territory, and he’s watched enough medical dramas to know that’s bad. He’s trembling from exhaustion, and lingering fear, and he feels dizzy and disorientated.</p><p>He stares at the floor and waits for Will.</p><p>A hand on his shoulder, and a gentle, concerned “hey,” snaps him back to full alert, and he nearly trips over himself before the hand reaches out again to steady him. Tommy struggles to shrug it off, motions wild once more with panic, but the hand holds him firm, and Tommy’s eyes follow it up the arm and to the face of the person it belongs to.</p><p>
  <em>Will.</em>
</p><p>Will is watching him from beneath a large blue umbrella, and holding onto Tommy like he’s afraid they’ll both fall over if he lets go. Tommy stares at him in shock-relief-guilt-regret, and for a moment, his vision darkens, and he feels so, very, very heavy.</p><p>“Tommy!”</p><p>With great effort, he pulls himself back to the present, and all the pain and terror that comes with it. Will is speaking, but Tommy can barely hear him.</p><p>“… Cold… How long… Why… Car, Tommy… There…”</p><p>Will guides him to the front passenger seat of his car, unconcerned with the fact that Tommy is spilling his <em>wet </em>all over it. His bag is placed on one of the back seats, and then Will is beside him, fiddling with the heater. His body slowly becomes reacquainted with warmth, and as it does, it realises how unbearably cold he is. He thinks he might have whimpered, or made some other equally embarrassing sound, because Will glances at him in concern, and takes one of Tommy’s cold, clammy hands into his own.</p><p>Tommy fades in and out of consciousness, but he’s aware enough to know that Will doesn’t let go of his hand until he’s parking the car outside his home.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>Nine – Dry</strong>
</p><p>Will half-carries him to the bathroom, and sets him on the toilet seat. He’s a flurry of activity around Tommy, collecting towels, blankets, sterile wipes and gauze – he must have noticed the blood – the kettle, two cups and teabags, a hot water bottle, dry clothes, and a hair dryer.</p><p>He plugs the kettle in by the sink, and sets it to boil. As he turns back to Tommy, Tommy remembers his bag. “Where’s bag..?” He mumbles.</p><p>“Huh?” Will replies distractedly, as he helps Tommy get his jacket off.</p><p>“Laptop… In bag…” Tommy insists, but he’s struggling to keep his eyes open, and get his mouth to move.</p><p>“Stay awake, Tommy.” Will commands, and Tommy tries, he really does, but he’s so tired, and so cold.</p><p>“… Laptop… S’wet?”</p><p>Will looks to where he dumped Tommy’s bag by the bathroom door, and walks over to it. He carefully pulls out the few things Tommy brought with him, and checks the laptop, charger, and headphones for damage. He shakes his head. “It all looks fine,” he says. “Not wet. But you are.”</p><p>The next few minutes are spent by Will assuring himself that Tommy isn’t about to die of hypothermia. Will methodically stripping and drying him isn’t as awkward as he thought it would be – but that’s probably the exhaustion talking. Getting the graze on his arm cleaned and bandaged has him crying again, and Will mumbling endless apologies and reassurances doesn’t help at all.</p><p>When the water boils, Will fills the hot water bottle and instructs Tommy to not let go of it upon pain of death, and then spends far too long attacking Tommy with the hair dryer. He sits and lets it happen, and hugs the hot water bottle to his chest. He thinks he falls asleep, because he opens his eyes to find that Will has made a nest of towels and blankets on the bathroom floor, and Tommy is in the middle of it. Will has him lean against the cupboard under the sink, and replaces his now-cool hot water bottle with a cup of tea.</p><p>“Drink,” Will says softly, and Tommy does.</p><p>They are silent for a long time. When Tommy’s fingers loosen around his cup, and darkness threatens to take him, Will begins to clean up. “Let’s get you to bed, then, yeah?” He helps Tommy stand, and guides him to what he can only imagine is Will’s bedroom. He’s only been here once before – a much happier time – and his memories of the day are rather fuzzy. His memories of a lot of things are rather fuzzy right now.</p><p>The mattress is soft, and the blanket is the same shade of bronze as the pyjamas Will gave him. He blinks at Will blearily as the older man fusses with the blanket. “Will, what about-?” He can’t just <em>steal </em>Will’s bed from him after everything he’s already done to help. Guilt pierces through his exhaustion, and he attempts to sit up. Will sits on the bed beside him, and puts a gentle hand on his chest to keep him down.</p><p>“Don’t worry about it, seriously. You need to sleep, mate.”</p><p>“But…”</p><p>“Shh.” A guitar materialises in Will’s hands from seemingly nowhere, and the quiet strumming puts a quick end to Tommy’s protests. The rain, which previously posed such a danger to him, is now only a calming backdrop to the sound of Will’s music. A peaceful haze surrounds Tommy, and he knows that when he next closes his eyes, they won’t open again for many hours. But before that happens, he has to make sure…</p><p>“Will?”</p><p>Will doesn’t cease his strumming as he responds. “Yeah, mate?”</p><p>Tommy swallows. He has a lot of thoughts, and not a whole lot of words to express them with. “… Sorry,” he whispers, then, “thank you.” It’s not at all anywhere close to enough, he thinks, but Will is smiling at him, so maybe he’s not a total lost cause.</p><p>The light is off now (when did that happen?), and the music grows ever quieter until it stops completely. Tommy is barely clinging to consciousness, but he’s aware enough to know that Will doesn’t leave him until he falls asleep.</p>
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